maraudersimp67

[maraudersimp67]

After Starcourt

Reposted from Ao3

Author: Maraudersimp

Feel free to find me on ao3 and let me know what you think! This was posted eons ago back in 2022 (omg) so I'm keen to get feedback before I dive back into my love for writing Robin (and Steve, of course)

After Starcourt, after the sirens had faded out and the ringing had stopped swirling round in her ears, Robin sat on her bathroom floor alone and cried. It was like the whole time she’d been shoving her head underwater and she’d only just had the chance to come up for air, but the air burned and she’d been swimming for so long that she was totally and utterly exhausted and overwhelmed and she couldn’t stop thinking about doctors and needles and fireworks and Russians to the point where she wanted to shove her head in a box and wail. It was too much. So she stayed on the floor until her bones started creaking, and her breathing evened out enough for her to down a glass of water without hiccuping, before sneaking back to her room without waking her sleeping parents. She peeled off her gross, sweaty, stinky work uniform with a grimace, vowing to herself that she’d change the sheets in the morning because there was no way she was going to be able to stay awake in the shower right now. By the time she’d shuffled over to her bed her eyes were half closed, and Robin Buckley was only sort of aware of the fact that this was going to be the best night's sleep she would get for weeks. 

In all the excitement she’d forgotten to turn off her alarm. If the mall hadn’t been… whatever it was, she would totally be pulling herself out of bed for her morning shift right now, instead Robin let out a groan and slapped at the box on her bedside table until it finally shut up. God , her head absolutely killed. Pair a drug cocktail hangover with a night of crying into the early hours and apparently you get the perfect recipe for the most intense headache of your life. Stick that one down in the life manual. She noted, Won’t be doing that again. 

She heard movement coming from the kitchen downstairs, even from here the sound of pans against laminate countertops made her teeth ache. Rubbing at her jaw, she shuffled her way upright and glared at the door for its lack of soundproofing. Completely inconsiderate. Worse than pans, though, was cutlery. That was a new one. Who would’ve thought that in just one night Robin’s entire stance on metal utensils could be shifted from “Fine, I guess.” to “Nope nope never again, get those away from me before I start throwing things.”. She covered her face with her hands and shook her head (slowly, so her eyes didn’t fall out of their sockets) before taking the deepest breath in human history and slowly exhaling. Shower first, then breakdown was going to be her mantra for the morning and she was nothing if not stubborn. 

Robin went through the motions without pause for thought and let steam fill the room. She sucked through her teeth when she got shampoo in her already stinging eyes and had to move slowly to avoid cramping when she washed herself because her muscles were so unbelievably tight from all the walking and running and rolling on the floor and nope. It was tough, but she was actually kind of proud of herself for turning her brain off on purpose for maybe the first time ever. Until she got to the mirror.

Usually she loved this part - being all warm and clean, wrapping herself up like a delicious burrito and putting creams on her face that made her feel like a fancy lady from victorian england - but today when she looked in the mirror her eyes were gross and bloodshot, way more than they should be from just shampoo, and she was still pretty puffy and sad looking. Leaning in to get a better look at her left eyeball, which was starting to itch ( which, ew), immediately sent her reeling, she felt like half the air had been knocked clean out of her because,

“Oh my god, Steve.”

The sound of her own voice shocked her a little, but not nearly enough to make her forget what she had just remembered. Steve’s face, covered in blood and bruises with a busted left eye and his stupid mouth hanging open because Robin had just told him the truth. 

“Oh my god.” She whispered to the Robin in the mirror. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

She couldn’t look away. Puffy Robin stared back in horror as she replayed their conversation in her head. Was he really okay with it? She sunk down to the basin and groaned into the plug hole. What if she went into town and saw ROBIN BUCKLEY IS A DYKE sprayed on every storefront in Hawkins? “No way.” she glared at the faucet as though it had put those thoughts in her head. It had the decency to look sheepish. “Get it together, Buckley.” she twisted for cold and splashed her face. Steve Harrington was her friend. Yeah, that’s never getting old. Steve didn’t care if she liked girls, and he definitely wasn’t going to undo months of friendship over it. Still, she felt bare. She let herself blame her shaking hands on hunger.

 

__

 

Two days later

 

__

 

Okay, no red spraypaint, but radio silence was just as bad, right? Obviously he could have just been in bed, recovering from his gnarly injuries, he might have even been dead! Which would be horrible! Seriously heartbreaking! She’s not even sure if he got home alright afterwards ‘cause he pushed her towards her parents’ car as soon as the ambulance people had cleared her to go. But that little demon in the corner of her brain couldn’t help but tap on the glass, whispering nasty things like,

“He thinks you’re gross, Robin Buckley.”

“You seriously think Mr Hawkins High himself would stick around after you drop a bombshell like that?”

It was exhausting. Between worrying about Steve and worrying for Steve she’d had to let the whole monsters are real and we all nearly died crisis take a back seat (because it’s easier to deal with what you know than the impossible blah blah therapy blah blah blah). She’d been treading a path through her rug for the past hour or so, tearing her way through her nail beds and taking calming sips of water from an old camping flask she’d filled for some reason. 

She didn’t register the telltale purr of a certain someone’s car as it pulled up outside her house, and she seriously thought she was hearing things when shouts of “Robin! Rob- Robin are you there?!” came from her lawn. But then her mother. Oh, her mother. Her wonderful, pushy, nosey mother, yelled up the stairs.

“Robin! There’s a boy on the lawn calling for you!”

It was like the world stopped and her face felt like it was splitting in two with how wide her smile was. The flask, already capped, fell to the floor with a thud that she didn’t even hear because she was already throwing herself down the stairs two at a time, poor balance be damned as she made a beeline for the hall.

“Honey!” her father stepped into the hall just before she could make it.

“Sorry dad got to go!” she sidestepped and skidded into the hatstand with a painful clatter.

“Robin, who is-?” she was already out the door.

And there he was. In all his stupid glory. Steve Harrington was stood on her lawn with a busted face and his arms outstretched and a matching goofy smile as Robin threw herself into his chest with a joint oof.

Before she could think anything she was yelling “You’re okay!”

“I’m okay!” he laughed and squeezed her even tighter, “I’m okay.” 

His chest rumbled against her ear as they laughed and spun around.

“You asshole!” she pressed against him so they could see each other’s faces. “Two whole days I was left with my own thoughts. Never do that again, I totally thought you’d died.”

Steve got that kicked puppy look she hated and sighed. “Yeah, well, turns out head injuries are kind of a big deal so they had to take me in to get some scans. I came straight here.”

“Shit, Steve.” They untangled themselves further until they were only holding each others forearms, like weirdos at a middle school dance.

“Hey, it’s fine! All good up in Harrington land, I basically slept all of yesterday anyway.”

“No concussion?” she eyed up his face, which was doing a great impression of a rainbow.

“Definitely a concussion.”

“Steve.”

“Yeah, I for sure shouldn’t be driving around but I have a killer headache so I figured it would be easier if I drove over to see you.”

“And you couldn’t have just called?”

He furrowed his brow, obviously thinking about this for the first time, and Robin just broke down in proper ugly laughter. The kind that immediately leaves you breathless and gasping for air. 

“I suppose… I could have just done that… yeah.” He said through a smirk as Robin let herself sink to the ground. 

I should not have had all that water.  

“You,” she gasped “are an absolute IDIOT Steve Harrington!” 

“Hey,” he’s started laughing too now “you don’t have to go telling the whole neighbourhood.”

For no reason at all that made it so much worse, they were kneeling in the grass holding each other and laughing their butts off like children. It was glorious. 

“Okay, okay, okay.” Robin got herself together enough to stand and brush herself down. “I need to pee, and you need to go home-”

“Come back with me?” He looked at the ground as he said it. It sounded so small, almost desperate, Robin couldn’t find it in her to make fun of him.

“Sure thing, dingus,” she lowered her voice to a whisper “but my parents have definitely been watching this whole thing so if you want me to stay over you’re going to need to perform a minor freaking miracle.”

“Fine by me, let’s save the slumber party for another time.” He got up slowly and walked to the car. “You coming?”

“Now?”

He nodded.

Robin looked back at the house and snorted when she saw the blinds twitch back. “I’ll be back by midnight!” She yelled through a smile and ran to the car.